


A Liberal Practise

by wetheresponsible



Category: Avengers
Genre: Anxiety, Established Relationship, M/M, OCs to Prove that Tony has a Life Outside the Avengers, Open Relationship, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 20:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11169621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetheresponsible/pseuds/wetheresponsible
Summary: Cpt. Steve Rogers, 24 yrs. old, pending trial from the United Nations, wants an open relationship with his partner of one year and three months, Mr Tony Stark, 42 yrs. old, on account of his increased libido, caused by his enhanced physicality.See notes in the beginning for context.





	A Liberal Practise

**Author's Note:**

> This was set, in my head, three/four years after the events of Civil War. I didn't want to bog down the story with a a flashback of how Tony and Steve got together because it felt misplaced and so obviously forced to be added into the story. So for context, please read this with the idea that Steve and Tony have been in a relationship for some time and have suffered enough of passing time for the events of Civil War not to affect their lives immediately, in the sense of exploding buildings and sprays of bullets falling upon them.

Steve brings it up the Sunday Tony is back from LA. Tony is not meant to be back, was advised in detail and by several people not to be back that Sunday, but lying in the middle of the boxing ring of his gym, deliciously tired and with the sun streaming in like gold over the concaves of the room, he didn’t feel regret.

He likes to think that he didn’t feel it even when Steve says:

“Tony, I think we should have an open relationship.”

Tony doesn’t reply automatically because his brain shuts down. It wasn’t exactly running on full capacity anyway—sparring with a physically enhanced superhero does that to a person—but now it was just really taking its fucking time to work through that sentence.

“Tony, don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me,” Steve sighed. He’s stopped beating the punching bag and the rhythm that he’s built up— _one two one two two one_ —is replaced by Tony’s quickly beating heart. Jesus, his chest hurts.

“I’m not pretending,” Tony replied.

“Then why were you ignoring me?”

“I wasn’t,” Tony said. “Steve, you’re acting like you just asked if we can have pancakes for dinner; like what you’ve just said isn’t a big thing. You heard yourself, right?”

Steve made his way over into the ring and Tony doesn’t even know that he’s moved from the corner of the room until he’s standing over him, frowning. It’s ingrained in Steve to walk and not make a single sound but Clint once told Tony that people like Clint and Steve start to walk louder around the people they trust just because they trust them and really don’t care if they can tell they’re coming. The fact that Steve hasn’t reached that kind of comfort with Tony means that he still might consider quietly slitting his throat in his sleep, but is apparently comfortable enough to bring up an open relationship.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Steve said.

“Okay, then help me understand,” Tony retorted. “How do you even know what an open relationship is?”

Steve pulled an exasperated face. “Tony, I’m behind but not an idiot,” he said. “I looked it up on the internet.”

“How? What were you looking up? Gay metrosexual relationship statuses? What the fuck?”

Steve smiled tightly at Tony, the kind that showed he was not impressed nor amused by Tony’s sense of humour expressed in witty but cutting quips. He sighed and got down on one knee to get closer to Tony and Tony sat up so the power balance in their relationship wasn’t so blatantly obvious to anybody looking, like they were actors in some undergrad’s thesis play.

“Sam told me first about it,” Steve said, voice quieter because they were closer.

Tony’s brain, previously sluggishly functioning, bursted into a flurry of activity. Weirdly, wasn’t his head that hurt at the commotion but the pit of his stomach.

“Do you want to sleep with Sam?” he asked. “Is that what this is about?”

Steve’s expression actually softened at the question. “No, I-well…” he sighed. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking for an open relationship.”

“To find out if you want to sleep with your partner in crime?”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “Yes,” he said. “And because you’re not always around.”

“Steve, I have a _job_ ,” Tony pointed out, possibly understating the claim. It was a true sentence, very factual, but perhaps woefully incomplete. He had more than a job; Tony didn’t just sit in his office from nine to five doling out paper work or even just fucking about like his guys in R&D. He was lucky to even be in the same space for more than three hours.

“And sometimes that job means you’re a flight away from me,” Steve argued. “Sometimes multiple flights away—oceans away.”

“Okay,” Tony sighed. He really hated when Steve started to get poetic. He didn’t know if that was a 1930-40s thing, like maybe Steve was always going to start speaking like a grandpa even if he perpetually looked like a twenty-year-old. The only other person Tony knew from that era was unanswerable, being chemically frozen asleep and would stab Tony in the mouth before he could open it to ask any questions otherwise.

“Tony, come on,” Steve said. “I have needs. You’re gone for a long time sometimes. I just don’t think, it’s really, you know.”

 _Fair_. That’s what Steve was implying they both knew. It wasn’t fair. Steve had the physicality of someone in their mid-twenties and could therefore have sex three times a day, everyday for weeks, and still kick ass. Tony could maybe have sex twice a day but then not again for another two-ish days, given the fact that exercise and good eating habits doesn’t change the fact that he’s 42.

“Right,” he said because he did know.

Steve reached his hand to rest it against Tony’s side, gripping and warm. “Tony, it doesn’t mean I love you less,” he said. “I’m so fucking in love with you. I love you, Tony. I love you.”

“Okay. You just want to sleep with other people who aren’t me.”

“It won’t mean anything,” Steve insisted. “It’s just because you’re busy or somewhere else. I’d never pick someone over you.”

“Steve, that’s bullshit,” Tony said. “And if it’s honesty, you’re an idiot. If you sleep with someone else and they make you happier, I won’t hold you back.”

Steve’s shoulders dropped at the statement and he scratched the back of his neck, a clear Steve Rogers sign that he was Upset. “God, Tony,” he said.

“This isn’t a self-deprecating thing,” Tony defended. “It isn’t! I swear to shit, it’s not.”

“How?” Steve exclaimed. “How is it not that when you tell me to leave you?”

“I’m not telling you to just up and leave me,” Tony replied. “I’m not saying that I don’t deserve you or whatever. I’m just saying, okay, if you find someone that makes you happier go with them. I’m not going to ask you to stay if you’re unhappy or less happy. It’s insulting to both of us, all right? It has nothing to do with my—my _self-esteem_ or whatever the fuck. Actually, me saying this has a positive indication that I even have fucking self-esteem.”

“All right,” Steve conceded. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to go and book a session with my therapist,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “I love myself, whatever.”

“I’m happy, Tony,” Steve said. “I’m really happy. With you. I’m happy with you.”

“Great,” Tony said. “But if you aren’t, just go, right?”

“You know I’m not asking for an open relationship because I’m trying to find a way to leave you, right?”

“Oh my god! I know! I get it! I know how an open relationship works!”

“I love you, Tony.”

“Okay!”

Steve smiled at him before he kissed him. It tasted like vanilla protein shake and left Tony kind of breathless.

 

* * *

 

Tony had to leave after two weeks to go to Japan and he spent the thirteen and a half hours intermittently sleeping, reading through his notes, and thinking about Steve fucking some other guy.

When he told Steve about the trip, he didn’t look any different from how he always looked at the news: disappointed, but mostly fine. Steve had helped him iron the shit in his suitcase and they had sex before he left. Steve also brought him to the airport and made him promise to bring him something back from Tokyo.

“It’s so pretty there,” he had said. “I’ve seen pictures.

“I can’t bring you back the scenery, Steve,” Tony had said.

Steve had smiled, bright and gorgeous. “Have a safe trip,” he had said.

He hadn’t said ‘I love you’ because there were Other People around and they were always watching the both of them. They always whispered or pointed or even, god forbid, clap when Steve and Tony showed any kind of affection for one other. Tony understood that people were happy that it was the 21st century and that it was okay for superheroes to be gay now but clapping made him feel like everything was a show and he was a sham. Which made therapy interesting but real life disgusting.

So he didn’t really take the lack of overt affection to heart at the airport but he couldn’t help but regret not kissing Steve one last searing time before he got on the plane. It wasn’t a possessive thing; it wasn’t like Tony was getting off on the fact that whatever guy Steve was going to sleep with had to kiss the lips Tony had just kissed.

Tony just missed Steve so much every time he was away. Steve said he did, too, and that was why he was sleeping with other people but Tony knew that Steve was just misplacing lust with love again. Without the war and the frozen thing, Steve was still twenty-four. That meant that he hadn’t really figured out that him wanting to have sex with other people wasn’t because he missed Tony so much when he was away but was because he had a hyper sexual drive and needed to be constantly orgasming for his body to function.

This also wasn’t a self-deprecating thing, Tony was sure. If anything, this was a science thing. Before Bruce fucked off to who knows where, he had done the naughty thing and showed Tony Steve’s health files. It was mostly stuff he had already guessed for himself and when he found out about Steve’s rampant libido he wasn’t really shocked, either.

So, really, the open relationship thing was best for both of them,

 It wasn’t like Tony hadn’t done it before either. When he was in college, he and his gorgeous coding seatmate were in an open relationship. Jamal was wonderful and so much fun and Tony was just as fun and wild. The both needed to be surrounded by other people all the time and that type of relationship worked nicely. It fizzled out between them eventually but it wasn’t bad and Tony looked back on their relationship fondly. The only reason why he hadn’t had an open relationship since then was that he stopped having serious relationships all together and when he was with Pepper she wanted an exclusive relationship. By then, Tony wasn’t really as sex-addled and hadn’t minded the arrangement.

Maybe that was why having an open relationship with Steve bothered him. He knew that even though it applied to both of them, it was only really Steve that was benefitting from it.

Tony wasn’t going to sleep with anyone else. He was old enough for the shine of casual sex to dull out. It wasn’t that his libido had died out; it was still there, definitely not as active as Super Soldier Steve, but still very much present. It was just that normal people had started grating on Tony’s patience. He knew that he was being an asshole by being sick of people just seeing the suit and the name and the social standing when they looked at him because that was natural. People didn’t see other people for Who They Are when they first meet them or even for the first couple of months or years they see each other. It was unfair of him to expect that from people, especially people that wanted to just have sex with him.

There wasn’t anything wrong with just wanting to have sex with Tony. He knew that sleeping with him was bragging rights for other people and that since most of them generally knew that a second chance wasn’t in the cards, most experiences included people giving the sex their all and it was great.

But Tony hated the Getting to the sex and the After of the sex. He was so sick of people being impressed with him and sick of being impressed with other people. He was so sick of awkward mornings and not knowing if he should leave or buy them breakfast or somehow both.

His therapist thought it was the almost dying thing and the causing an international and highly violent war between super heroes thing, which is probably true. Tony thinks he shouldn’t really be blamed if he stopped stomaching flirting at galas after seeing people die.

So really, his real problem with this whole set-up was that they were trying to do it to be more fair with each other, only now it seemed like they were just switching the balance of a scale that was incapable of ever truly being fair.

* * *

 

Peter Parker was waiting on the couch outside Tony’s office when he gets back to New York. Jolene, Tony’s receptionist, was keeping a wary eye on the kid and Tony can’t really blame her for the stink-eye since Peter looked like he was about to burst into Tony’s office any minute, even though he was trying to hide the fact by doing his homework on his lap.

“How you doing, kid,” Tony greeted, a safe distance away from Peter’s books and pens that plummet to the floor when he jumps up standing.

“Mr Stark!” Peter exclaimed. “You’re back! How was Japan?”

“How do you know that?” Tony and Jolene asked at the same time.

Peter floundered for two embarrassing seconds before spitting out, “You told me! Remember? The last time I was here, you said, ‘Kiddo, I’m going to Japan next week’.”

Tony doesn’t actually remember but Peter looked genuinely afraid of his receptionist so he rolled his eyes and let it go. “Whatever, get in my office,” he said.

It turns out that the reason why Peter had been camping out on Tony’s couch was because he had an idea that his internship supervisor downstairs had rejected and since he had steel balls apparently decided to bring his idea to the owner of Stark Industries, instead.

Tony laughed and laughed and then said, “Fine, let’s hear it.”       

Like a lot of Peter’s ideas, it’s a good idea, if not a little ambitious. Peter seemed delighted that Tony not only entertained him but actively worked on his idea next to him. They draw up possible solutions and even marketing ideas on the glass windows with washable markers, which always excites Peter.

“I’m writing ideas _on top_ of Manhattan _on_ Manhattan!” Peter always exclaims.

Tony liked spending time with the kid because he was ambitious and bright and occasionally actually funny. These days Peter seemed to enjoy time with Tony more for their rapport and shared interest in mechanics rather than just blind admiration. Having someone to share this passion with was enough for Tony to relax and really enjoy himself, which was probably why he lost track of the time.

“You guys are having fun,” Steve said. He’s got his shoulder resting against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, and ankles crossed.

“Oh,” Peter said, the same time Tony said, “Steve.”

They both straighten up at the same time, Peter noticeably stiff and looking over Steve’s shoulder. The light above Jolene’s desk is still on but she’s left for the day and the night sky stretches over New York, a perfect background to its blinking lights.

The silence in the room is momentary but deafening, only marginally saved by Peter’s Childish Gambino playlist playing softly in the background.

“Peter should get going,” Tony said. “He needs to get on the train.”

“No, it’s late,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Peter, why don’t you take the car that drove me here?”

“God no,” Peter replied hastily. “I mean—I…prefer the subway.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. “It’s really no problem. Tony’s driving me home since he made dinner get cold.”

Peter glanced at Tony for help but before Tony can spit out some excuse to save his sorry ass, he pulled himself together.

“It’s really fine,” Peter said firmly. “It’s, like, seven-thirty anyway. Really not that bad. Not even Fallon is on right now and he’s vanilla as they get.”

“Funny,” Tony said, smiling at him. “I’ll talk to the R&D guys about all this. Keep grinding at the internship program, though.”

“No pain no gain,” Peter said, glancing quickly at Steve before smiling winningly. “Bye, Mr Stark!”

“Bye,” Steve waved.

The doors of the elevator shut before Tony could say anything else and he turned, instead, to make a face at Steve.

“He meant me,” he said. “You’re no Stark.”

Without Peter’s young, enthusiastic disposition, Tony felt suddenly all of his forty-two years. He was devastatingly tired. The remark was meant to be biting and poisonous, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why not being a Stark should offend Steve. For the longest time, Tony hated being one and now he was using it as a threat.

Steve either chose not to bite or didn’t realise he had been complexly insulted. Instead he walked from his perch on the doorframe into the room, to stand and look through the drawings and equations scrawled all over Tony’s windows.

“Might as well be Mandarin,” he shrugged, before smiling cheekily and handsomely at Tony.

He’s so gotten laid, Tony thought. Steve was in a good mood often, it’s probably part of his brand and side-effect of the science that built him, but he also tragically had his best friend frozen in a box somewhere and was the other half that stimulated the violent international super hero war, so he was not always _this_ happy.

Tony didn’t know if wanted to cry, laugh, say a million things, fight, or jump out of the window. Instead he said, “I made dinner go cold?”

“Yeah, there’s spaghetti and meatballs and pie,” Steve said. “Homemade pie!”

“You cooked dinner?” Tony asked.

“Fuck that, I ordered the pasta,” Steve grinned. “But I made the pie.”

“So my dinner is edible but the dessert is questionable. Noted.”

Steve kissed him out of nowhere, then. He held the back of Tony’s neck and wrapped an arm around his waist pulling him closer and kissed him deep and long. It’s the kind of kiss that usually had Tony wondering if the security guards were getting this and how comfortable he was with his body to have sex with Steve if they were, but instead he said:

“So Sam was good to you, huh?”

Which really turned Steve off. He broke the kiss right away and gaped at Tony for what felt like a full minute, expressions passing through his face before he settled on anger. Which really kind of worried Tony because he was still holding Tony the same way he was when he was kissing him and if Steve’s about to fight him, he was in a disadvantageous position.

“What are you talking about?” Steve demanded.

Tony decided on being defensive to counter Steve’s anger. “What? You don’t have to act like this, Steve.”

“Like what?” Steve said. “Offended?”

“Why are you offended?” Tony asked. “Did you not want us to talk about the other guys you sleep with? Because okay, if that’s what you want, but I didn’t know this time and that’s why I asked about Sam.”

Steve finally let go of him then because he needed to run his hand through his hair and then his face. “What do you want me to say, Tony?” he said. “Yes, I slept with Sam. Okay? Is that fine now with you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine with me,” Tony answered. “I was just asking.”

“No,” Steve snapped, glaring at him. “You were implying that the reason why I’m being loving and affectionate to you is because I slept with someone else. Tony, I’m not acting. I missed you. I thought about you everyday you were gone and wished you were back sooner. Although now I’m kind of angry at your face.”

“This is my face I can’t change it,” Tony retorted.

Steve glared at him exasperatedly for a second before seemingly deflating. “Okay, I get it,” he said. “This is still new and you’re still possessive. I understand it’s a process; we’re getting there.”

“Wait, you think I’m possessive of you?”

Steve paused. “You don’t?”

Tony gaped at him. “No, Steve. I’m not possessive of you. Remember when I told you that if you find someone else that made you happier to go with them? That was possible because I’m not possessive of you,” he pointed out.

“Tony, you’re blatantly possessive,” Steve argued. “That’s why Peter’s still so jumpy with me.”

“What?” Tony said, feeling the full force of the change of subject. “I’m possessive and that’s why Peter is weird with you? Where is the correlation, Steve? Peter is jumpy with you because the last time you two spent more than five minutes together you beat him up.”

“That was three years ago!” Steve exclaimed. “That was back when you hired him like some kind of secret weapon to one up me.”

“Like you didn’t do the same with Scott?”

“Mr Lang is an adult, Tony, Peter was seventeen!”

Tony waved his hands in front of his face, as if to dash away the strings of the old argument that they were about to fall into. “That’s not the point here, okay? How does my apparent possessiveness have any tie to Peter’s attitude towards you?”

“Tony,” Steve said in the tone that Tony hated the most, slow and firm, and like Tony wasn’t a certified genius. “You keep holding Peter to your side like he’s yours because you’re possessive and now the boy doesn’t know if he’s allowed to interact with me.”

“I really, really, really don’t think that’s what’s happening,” Tony said, throwing his hands in the air.

“All right, fine,” Steve snapped. He was facing towards the centre of Tony’s office, hands on his waist and huffing angrily.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said eventually. “I really don’t want you to be mad and I’m sorry I upset you.”

The fight seemed to sink from Steve’s shoulders and he dragged one of the contemporary arm chairs Tony’s interior designer set up and sat heavily onto it.

“This is why I was really hesitant about bringing up having an open relationship,” he revealed.

“If you weren’t going to tell me what you wanted, what was the alternative?” Tony asked. “You were just going to be miserable?”

“No,” Steve snapped, before deflating again. “I don’t know.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony griped, annoyed at Steve’s inability to do anything with himself because he was the same and really one of them needed to have their shit together.

“Look,” Steve started, some of his usual steel returning in his tone. “Tony, try to think about this from my shoes. I haven’t had sex with anyone besides you for seventy-two years.”

“That’s not true,” Tony said. “You were definitely sleeping with some of the SHIELD officers. I know about that. Clint told me about that.”

“Yes, but not constantly,” Steve dismissed impatiently. “It was hard for me to really enjoy it because they were strangers and I wasn’t comfortable with them completely.”

“And also they were SHIELD soldiers who were probably reporting what sex with you is like to Fury.”

“And that,” Steve conceded. “So, I’m sorry if I need more sex than you. But I can’t control it anymore than you can control how your heart works.”

“Poetic,” Tony commented drily.

“Tony.”

“Okay,” Tony said. He was done fighting and he was tired. He didn’t know if he was being immature because he felt old or he was being old and therefore immature in retaliation to age creeping up on him. What he did know was that his partner bought dinner and made pie and just clearly made an effort for his return and he was being a needless dick about things that happened and are already happening.

“Okay,” he repeated. “Kiss me again and then we’ll go home.”

“Fuck you, you kiss me,” Steve frowned. “You’re the one being a cunt.”

“That is such a bad word,” Tony said. “I can’t say that word. You swear worse than me. Now I don’t want to touch my mouth with your mouth.”

“Tony, I was in the army. I can’t help but speak this way.”

Tony shrugged and sat on Steve’s lap. “What would your mother say, though?”

“Please don’t talk about my mom while you’re sitting on my lap.”

“Too kinky?”

“No, Tony, it’s fucking gross.”

* * *

 

When they got home that night, they had the store bought pasta that tasted like every other version of spaghetti and meatballs Tony’s ever had and Steve’s attempt at cherry pie which Tony ate while singing and humming the chorus of Warrant’s _Cherry Pie_. The reference predictably goes over Steve’s head and when Tony played him the song, he crumpled his nose at the noise like a proper oldie from the 40’s.

They don’t have sex. Tony thought about the possibly in moments over dinner, not sure if he was being self-conscious about things because he was anticipating sex or if he was nervous about the prospect of sex.

Pepper called him as he was helping load the dishwasher. Tony had taken notes in Japanese to have the words of his associates down verbatim for reference and there are parts of his English translation for Pepper’s eyes that needed explaining.

“I got it,” Steve had said, grabbing the towel over Tony’s shoulder. “You do you, Mr Stark.”

The translation takes longer than Tony wanted because half the time he has to read over his notes twice for him to remember and understand what the hell he was going on about in the first place. Pepper was patient like a saint and apologised for disturbing his dinner with Steve when it’s over.

“No, it’s fine,” Tony reassured. “Really, Jesus. It’s fine.”

Pepper hums. “Everything all right up there?”

Tony thought about Steve fucking Sam or Sam fucking Steve while he was in Japan compromising on micro-board processing and the like and feels like vomiting.

“It’s great,” Tony insisted. “Always sunny.”

“I’m glad,” Pepper replied. “I’ll call you soon.”

By the time Tony had come out of his work office, the dishes were done and the lights were off. In their bedroom, Tony’s lamp was left on but Steve’s side of the room was dark and he was asleep. He doesn’t stir until Tony gets into the bed, and even then only to drag the covers over his shoulder higher.

Tony stared at the lights cast above the ceiling from the window, let in because Steve didn’t like the curtains closed ever. He could hear every inhale and exhale his partner made and he forced the sound to lull him to sleep.

In the morning, Steve rolled over and looked like he might want to have sex with Tony but his phone rings. Steve had a charity event in the afternoon and the officials wanted him there early to run the details through him.

“Sounds important,” Tony said.

“We’ve got time,” Steve said, a kind of offering.

Tony smiled. “Shouldn’t risk it,” he said. “Your rep’s on the line, Stevie-o.”

So Steve went and got ready for his charity event and Tony spent the day in his workshop alternatively tuning up the cars and trying to translate the rest of his notes for his presentation later in the week.

When Steve got home, Tony’s on a bender. Something from the notes had sung a tune at him and now he’s elbows deep in the Ford, thinking he could probably make it run on the same energy as his suits and still be rechargeable somehow. He thinks that it’s marketable and something that will make Pepper smile.

Steve left him alone and they still don’t have sex. They don’t have sex the next morning either because Tony makes a point to leave the bed before Steve makes anymore offerings and he’s shrugging into his blazer as Steve makes his morning coffee, still misty eyed from sleep.

“I’ll see you tonight-ish,” Tony said.

Steve motioned at the bowl of flour and the open egg carton on the granite kitchen island. “You’re not having breakfast?” he asked.

Tony raised his tumbler filled with banana protein shake. “Breakfast of giants,” he said.

Steve licked his lips and considered him. “We’re okay, right, Tony?”

“We’re okay,” Tony said. “Just busy.”

Steve smiles. “When aren’t we?”

The thing is, Tony wasn’t lying because they really are busy. Him, especially. Technically, Steve’s not meant to be present for the general public on account that he’s still on trial for not signing the accords and his best friend’s super secret freezer-slash-bedroom.

The height of Tony’s schedule happened at three p.m., when Tony’s patent attorney Josh Sleiman shows up to read through the patents for R&D’s releases next season the same time the journalist for Tony’s _Times_ interview shows up, Dan Kraus.

Josh had been with Tony since forever and Dan’s has been one of the only journalists that Tony more than tolerates and can therefore get a straight interview with so the two have met several times over cocktails at many of Stark Industries events. They’re friendly and sometimes Tony likes to entertain himself with the thought that they’re a little too friendly with each other at times. Little breaks of professionalism when Dan smiles privately at Josh and Josh smiles back.

It’s cute because Tony doesn’t think he and Steve were ever cute. Explosive and a shock to everyone surrounding them but never really cute.

“I’ll just come back with these later this week,” Josh said, raising the files. “It’s early days, really.”

“Sorry for kicking you out like this, Josh,” Dan apologised, shaking his hand.

“Don’t be,” Tony said. “You’re not the one kicking him out. Now quit with the heart eyes and scoot.”    

Josh frowned disapprovingly at him before he leaves but Dan grins at Tony after definitely following Josh’s ass as he leaves.

“You’re awful,” he said. “You know he’s a private man.”

“Needs to loosen up,” Tony shrugged. “He’s such a riot two scotches down. You should take him out drinking.”

“I didn’t know you set people up now,” Dan said. “That’s alarming, frankly.”

“You two would have beautiful sonorous sex together.”

“Sonorous?” Dan repeated, confused.

Tony gestured at his mouth. “The accents?”

Before being hired by the _Times_ as the only reporter capable of having a conversation with assholes like Tony, Dan and the rest of his German family moved from Munich to Sydney two years after his birth which caused the man’s Aussie and not at all German accent. Josh, on the other hand, was half-Lebanese and half-Queens, and never really lost the sound of Beirut from his voice.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Lovely,” he said. “Do you want to do this walking?”

Tony glanced at his wrist watch and the files that Jolene left on his table that morning that he hadn’t even nudged since. “Yeah, let’s get lunch,” he said. “Samosas on me.”

Dan’s writing about climate change this time and wants to hear Tony’s clean energy mission and Stark Industry’s push for everything they make to be powered by completely safe and environmentally friendly energy. Dan’s great at his job, which means that Tony doesn’t too much feel like a megalomaniac talking about his company’s mission and his hopes and dreams for the future, but instead like talking to one of his friends.

Tony’s just told Dan a reasonably funny anecdote when someone called his name.

“Oh fuck,” Tony said, seeing who it was.

Sam Wilson was at the front of Sandeep’s samosa stall, a samosa wrapped in paper in one hand and a five-dollar bill in the other.

“Why do you look like you’re about to make a run for it?” Dan asked suspiciously.

“Because I want to do exactly that, Daniel,” Tony replied. He waved at Sam, even smiled pleasantly and hopes that this is the end of their interaction but Sam pays Sandeep and makes his way to the end of the line, where Tony is trying to hide behind Dan’s tall and bulky frame.

“What the fuck?” Dan said, glancing at him questioningly.

“Hi, Tony,” Sam greeted, smiling winningly. “I didn’t know you liked samosas.”

“Broad palate,” Tony replied. “Also, Sandeep is a genius.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Sam shrugged. “Oh, I’m Sam Wilson, by the way.”

Dan shook Sam’s free hand and introduced himself.

“You’re going to be on the papers again?” Sam teased, still fucking smiling.

Tony laughed, high and tight in his throat. “For climate change! In the good sense.”

“Climate change has a good sense?” Sam asked.

“I’m just asking for Tony’s opinion on clean energy,” Dan clarified.

Sam nods. “Well, he is the master,” he grinned. “Well, I gotta go. My lunch hour’s illegally short, so I’ll see around. It was nice to meet you, Dan.”

Tony nods his goodbye and when Sam’s walked far enough to be out of earshot, makes a vomiting noise.

"What the hell?” Dan demanded. “You look green. Don’t fucking puke on me or I’ll write about all your mistakes.”

“Fuck you, I’ll get Josh to sue you,” Tony retorted.

“Josh is a corporate patent attorney,” Dan said. “He would be useless in suing me.”

Tony waved his hand dismissively and stepped out the line, dragging Dan along with him. “What time do you have to be back at Eighth Avenue?”

"My editor is still under the impression that I have to wine and dine you to get to say anything coherent or useful, so I’m technically free for the day,” Dan said. “Why?”

“Because I want something harder than samosas,” Tony admitted.

They made their way to bar not far from Sandeep’s that sells truly mortifyingly greasy pizza and glasses of beer that look big even in Dan’s gigantic hands.

“All right, before anything, are you done doing your job?” Tony asked. “Officially? Do you have what you need?”

Dan flipped through his Moleskine notepad and hummed. “Pretty much. What’s going on?”

“I need you to stop being the _Times_ reporter and instead be the guy that got drunk at my Chinese New Year party in Hong Kong five years ago and would have drowned in the Mandarin Oriental’s hotel if I didn’t save your sorry German-Aussie ass.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Dan demanded, shaking his head. “Jesus fuck, fine. Is everything fine with you?”

“No,” Tony replied. “My boyfriend is sleeping with that guy we just met.”

Dan didn’t choke on beer because he was German and therefore didn’t waste beer, but he did pause in drinking any more upon hearing the statement.

“Fuck me,” he said. “Steve’s cheating on you?”

“No,” Tony denied. “We decided to have an open relationship.”

Dan stared at Tony to see if he was serious and then whistles lowly. “I didn’t know you were down for that,” he admitted.

“What do you mean?” Tony asked. “Wait, is this because you think I’m possessive? Steve thinks I’m possessive.”

Dan shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I don’t see it,” he said. “I just don’t think…Look, man, don’t take this in the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re all that clear up there to be having open relationships.”

“You mean mentally?” Tony said. “You think I’m too fucked up for open relationships?”

“Don’t say it like that. I sound like a fucking dick,” Dan protested. “I mean that you’ve got pretty bad anxiety, right, Tony? Won’t Steve sleeping with other, younger guys make that worse?”

It was funny that in the maelstrom of everything Tony had actually forgotten that he was medically more anxious than most people. It was like chanting his mantra of _I’m normal I’m normal I’m normal_ finally convinced him that he was. Being reminded of it now made his discomfort with his and Steve’s current arrangement all the more obvious and telling.

“Fuck,” he said. “You’re right. Fuck.”

“Did he bring this up or did you, somehow?”

“He did,” Tony admitted. “But I think it’s right for him to want this, you know? He’s twenty-four, Dan. You remember being twenty-four.”

“I’m thirty-three, Tony, it wasn’t that long ago,” Dan said, rolling his eyes. “So, what, you’re saying it’s a libido thing? Like a…hyper sexual drive?”

“Pretty…much.”

“That’s fucking insane,” Dan said, taking a swig of his beer.

“But true,” Tony argued. “True. It’s true. It’s in the science that made him. He can’t help it any more than I can’t help being unable to totally provide for him.”

“This is so sad,” Dan said. “This is getting sadder the more you talk.”

“It’s why we’re drinking,” Tony pointed out.

Dan frowned at the statement but didn’t say no to another round of beer.

* * *

 

Tony really should have seen Steve catching up to his avoidance of sex coming. Even at Tony’s busiest they had sex twice a week, a point of pride that Tony like to remind himself of when he started feeling like an old fart again. Which these days, was often.

"Tony,” Steve said, moving the blueprints Tony was sketching on and sitting atop the worktable to take their place, bare feet resting on Tony’s lap to stop him from escaping. “Do you think I’m unattractive?”

Tony gaped at him. Steve had just come back from the gym and was freshly showered. His hair was still wet in places but his face was still flush from the hot shower and he smelt like deodorant, crisp and fresh. He was so handsome Tony didn’t know if he was being sarcastic.

“What?” he said.

Steve leaned closer, and with Tony still sitting down it wasn’t a far travel. Steve gripped the nape of Tony’s neck and asked, “Baby, are you still attracted to me?”

Tony was always left wrong-footed when Steve started to spout pet names. It was so unfamiliar to him both because he hadn’t really seriously been called ‘babe’ or ‘baby’ before and those were Steve’s apparent limited choices.

“Um,” Tony floundered. “Yes?”

Steve smiled at him then, handsome and gorgeous and like everything Tony knew he was in love with. When Steve kissed him, he sees it coming and responded in equal passionate measure.

“Mmm,” Steve moaned against his mouth. “I’m so happy you feel that way, Tony. Now take me to bed.”

Tony froze momentarily at the demand before returning to the kiss to not grab Steve’s suspicions. He couldn’t tell Steve that he wasn’t in the mood, Steve’s foot had moved to rest directly on top of the proof of Tony’s current mood and he couldn’t lie.

“Okay,” Tony breathed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Steve groped at him the entire way to their bedroom, humming and moaning appreciatively, and got annoyed when Tony tried to unwrap his arms around him so he can turn the bedroom doorknob.

Inside, Steve stripped immediately, like a soldier. Shirt. Sweats. Boxers. He fell backwards against their bed, lifting one arm to cram a pillow under his head while the other circled his cock.

“Hurry hurry hurry,” he ordered. “Take your clothes off, Tony.”

Tony peeled his stained work shirt over his head and skipped out of his jeans. He bends to unlace his shoes and that’s when he’s eyelevel with the bedcovers. Well, really, it’s the bed, but what Tony noticed was the covers and how they were a different colour two days ago.

Two days ago the sheets were blue. Two days ago Tony had packed for a day-trip to Washington, promising to be gone for a day at the most.

Now the sheets were red and Tony wished he didn’t know that Steve only changed the sheets every other week or when sex was too messy.

He had no memory of too messy sex with his partner that needed a change of sheets from blue to red afterwards.

The thing was, Tony knew it couldn’t possibly be Sam this time. Sam Wilson was sitting two tables across from Tony in Washington two days ago, listening to the same bullshit speech from seedy senators. And when Tony had gotten over himself, imagined Dan calling him a coward, he had walked over and said hello. They had a pleasant enough conversation, with one point of discussion now rising searing and clear to the front of Tony’s mind:

“I’m staying in Washington for a couple more days,” Sam had said. “Check out my old haunts and see old friends. Nothing like being home.”

So it couldn’t have been Sam. Sam didn’t take a jet faster than Tony’s to get to their apartment to have such messy sex with Steve that Steve had to change the sheets after from blue to red.

“Tony?” Steve called from the bed. “Are you still untying your shoes? Just keep them on, whatever, just don’t get them on the sheets.”

Because the sheets are new, Tony wanted to say. But he didn’t.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he said, taking his shoes off hurriedly and half in a daze, stumbling inelegantly on top of Steve.

“Ow!” Steve huffed. “Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Tony said pushing himself up on his elbows.

Steve looked like he was about to say something before he frowned. He moved his left thigh closer to Tony’s body on top of him and he smiled exasperatedly.

“Did unlacing your shoes take long enough for you to get soft?” he said, cupping Tony’s face.

“Uh,” Tony stuttered. “It’s not—sorry.”

Steve laughed. He pulled Tony’s face down to kiss him deeply before pulling away to peck his chin. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He flipped their positions so Tony was lying down and made quick work to shimmy down Tony’s person.

“Oh,” Tony said, quickly concluding where this was going.

“Oh,” Steve agreed, grinning cleverly.

Steve was slow about it, wet and messy like he knew Tony enjoyed. Only Tony couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Steve was so good at sucking cock and whether Steve had learnt how in the 40s in the army, or with one of the nameless SHIELD agents, or with Sam. Tony couldn’t remember if Steve was this good at messy blowjobs before he had started sleeping with other people.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, having pulled off Tony’s dick. His voice sounded wrecked already—sensitive throat—but he looked concernedly at Tony’s only half-hard dick and the expression on Tony’s face that must have reflected the dark of his thoughts.

“Jesus,” Tony said, sitting up. Steve mirrored his movement, only he was still apparently still in that strange—but arousing—dreamy state he got into while sucking Tony’s dick and almost fell off the bed.

Tony grabbed his shoulders and held him steady. Steve smiled at him gratefully before moving closer to push Tony back against the pillows and kiss him.

“What’s the matter?” Steve mumbled against his mouth. “’M I doin’ it wrong?”

“No, Steve, never,” Tony reassured, kissing Steve harder to prove his point.

“Then what’s the matter?” Steve asked, trailing wet kisses down Tony’s neck.

Tony sighed, pulling away slightly. “I think I’m stressed,” he admitted. “I’ve been drinking a lot, too.”

“Drinking a lot?” Steve repeated, his eyebrows meeting. “Baby, what for?”

“I told you,” Tony said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I’m stressed.”

“Is it because of work?” Steve asked, before glancing down. “Or is it, you know, the open relationship thing?”

“Honestly?” Tony laughed drily, running his hands through his hair. “Kind of both.”

Steve’s expression hardened like it always did when he was Thinking Things Through. He didn’t stiffen in Tony’s arms though or try to move away, so Tony let his hands stroke his sides, fingers tracing the trail of freckles from his collarbones that tapered off in numbers towards his v-line.

“Tony, I don’t know how to make you believe me when I say that I’m only in love with you,” Steve said, quietly. “Sex is like…like scratching an itch for me. I sleep with those guys because I need to but not because I want to. Not because I choose to.”

“Right,” Tony gulped.

“I don’t know how to explain how much it means for me to choose to love you and to choose to make love with you,” Steve said. “Ever since the serum, Tony, my life has been cut down to being 90% controlled by the effects of my fucking body chemistry, leaving only 10% space for me to make my own decisions.”

Steve leaned closer, nosing Tony’s cheeks and hands flat against Tony’s chest like he was trying to shield it. “I choose you, Tony,” Steve said. “I chose to love you. My body didn’t tell me I needed to have you. I wanted you and I chose you. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that enough, Tony? Tony, please.”

Tony hates Steve begging. He hates that Steve will ever have to resort to it; Steve Rogers, golden boy of America, and so sincere in his efforts to be good and in trying his best.

"It’s more than enough,” Tony told him, leaning up to kiss him. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it that way sooner. I’m sorry, Stevie-o. I’m sorry, darling.”

  

* * *

 

When they had sex not long after, Steve rode Tony achingly slow. He told him he wanted to feel Tony in him forever and when Tony sat up to kiss him, he cried. Steve hated crying because he was from the 40’s and got angry with himself and tried to ride Tony faster to prove something, but Tony grabbed hold of his waist and kissed him tenderly.

“Fuck, I love you,” Steve sobbed.

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and smiled against his mouth. “Me too,” he said. “I swear, me too.”

* * *

 

Afterwards, Tony told Steve about noticing the sheets and the messy sex Steve must have had with Not Sam two days prior.

“Oh,” Steve sighed. “Well, his name was Cole. I met him at the gym and invited him around but then he wanted to get high and then have sex.”

“Seriously?” Tony said. He thought that three hours ago his insides would have been choking him up, but now that Steve was just in a robe in front of him, flipping through take-away menus, he’s just curious and mildly amused. “Was this Cole guy in college?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “He was twenty-two and when he saw the pictures of me and you in our suits he must have thought I was going to drag his ass to the cops for the weed he took out because he left so quickly. He spilled the shit all over the bed. I put it in a bag but the sheets still smelt like weed somehow so I changed them.”

“Huh,” Tony said, filing the rejected menus between the coffee jar and the sugar jar. “Wait, do you still have the weed?”

“Yeah, it’s in the bedside drawer,” Steve said absently, dialling the number of the Thai place. “I didn’t know how to get rid of it without it getting to the press somehow so I—oh, hello? Yes, I’d like to order—“

Tony grabbed the phone from Steve’s hand and ends the call. “Steve!” he exclaimed. “Are you telling me you have possible university-grade weed in our home?”

“Er, yeah?” Steve shrugged. “I told you, I didn’t know what to do with it. I thought about jamming it down the sink but—“

“Blasphemy!” Tony said, cupping Steve’s face so fast that Steve winced. “We have a twenty-two year-old’s sex weed stash in our house, Steven, it’s only right that we see it off right.”

Steve stared at him uncomprehendingly for a second or two before realisation dawned on him. “Tony, you can’t be serious,” he protested.

"Now who needs to loosen up their morals?” Tony taunted, kissing Steve happily.

"Eurgh, Tony, it’ll stink up the whole apartment,” Steve grumbled against the kiss.

Tony pressed one last wet and dirty kiss against Steve lips before pulling away to grin at him. “Then we’ll bake to get baked,” he said.

“You don’t know how to bake,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“Google, my darling.”

* * *

 

Maybe university student Cole had left enough recreational drugs to make two trays of weed brownies which was handy because both Steve and Tony had forgotten about Steve’s bullet quick metabolism.

“I’ve had a tray and a half of this shit and I’m buzzed at the most,” Steve complained.

Tony, who had had two and a quarter, was very much high. He sat across Steve on their couch, one hand keeping his head propped up and the other halfway stuck in a Pringles can.

“Do you want to fuck?” he said, eyeing Steve’s pecks that were in clear view even with the robe he had on.

“Not ‘til I’m high,” Steve refused testily. “This is fucking unfair.”

“Can you help me pull this off?” Tony asked instead, holding up his Pringle can-ended arm. Steve looked at his arm questioningly for a beat too long before reaching out to yank the can away, sending a spray of crumbs everywhere.

“Nooooooo,” Tony moaned. “The mess!”

“What do you care about the mess?” Steve mumbled darkly. “I bet you don’t even know where the vacuum is.”

“Pretty sure we have Roombas, but I think you’re just sad because you’re not high,” Tony said. “Have two more slices and then wait it out. This shit takes time.”

Fifteen minutes and two brownie slices later; Steve had finally caught up to Tony’s high. He had changed the channel from Tony’s preference of Cake Boss to CNN.

“Why are we watching CNN?” Tony asked. “It’s so depressing. The state of this country is depressing and makes you mad.”

“Because Anderson Cooper is good looking,” Steve replied, eyes never leaving the screen. “He’s so eloquent and I love him.”

“Hey,” Tony chided, jabbing Steve’s shoulder with his toe. “You’re not allowed to love him. You can sleep with him, but not love him.”

“Deal,” Steve said, reaching behind him to grab Tony’s foot and peck his ankle, eyes still glued to the screen.

They watched Anderson talk about The Paris Conference for a moment longer before Tony remembered: “I think he’s married.”

“What?” Steve said.

“I think he’s married,” Tony replied.

“No way!” Steve exclaimed. “I would know if Anderson was married.”

“Why would you know? That’s creepy.”

“Oh, like you don’t jack off to photos of that comic-book movie actor.”

“Hey! He looks a lot like you!”

Steve looked away from the TV long enough to give Tony an unimpressed look. “That’s creepier,” he said. “Why don’t you just jack off to pictures of me in the first place?”

“Because I only jack off to other men when you’re being a dick and it’s a form of rebellion,” Tony said proudly.

Steve scoffed, still obviously nonplussed by Tony’s explanations but did get off the floor to slot himself on top Tony’s body on the couch, back against Tony’s chest. Steve dragged the box of pizza they had chosen for easier dining experience closer to the couch and set about tearing the slices into pieces to alternatively eat and feed Tony over his shoulder.

“I really think he’s married,” Tony said.

“FRIDAY!” Steve yelled, activating Tony’s in-house A.I. system. “Is Anderson Cooper married?”

Not longer than ten seconds later, Steve’s phone trilled with the results.

“Hold on to me,” Steve ordered and Tony wrapped his arms around his waist.

Steve leant over the couch and reached for his phone, some metres away from where they both were sprawled and managed to grab it. He flipped through the information FRIDAY sent him and sighed disappointedly.

“He is married,” he said. “Hey, what the hell! You met his husband!”

Steve slapped Tony’s hip to get his attention and Tony raised his head to peer at the photo on Steve’s glowing phone screen: it was him, Anderson Cooper and a man with his arm around Anderson Cooper, in tuxes and smiling at the camera.

“Oh,” Tony said. “That’s why I know he’s married. I met his husband.”

“Hmm,” Steve said, scrolling through the information. “You met him when his nightclub had an event. He owns the nightclub. He’s French.”

"Okay,” Tony said.

"Aw man,” Steve said, putting his phone down and moving closer into Tony’s embrace. “They really are married.”

“Cheer up,” Tony said, pecking Steve’s nose. “Maybe it’s an open relationship.”

And maybe it was probably not in university Cole’s weed, but they laughed and laughed and laughed.

* * *

 

Three weeks later, Tony was waiting for his plane to be cleared away and ready for his trip to Seoul, where he was meeting with his outside associates. The signal wasn’t strong in the side of JFK and the WiFi was abysmal. He had just accepted his fate and began to stand up when Steve came into view, jogging hurriedly over.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, rushing closer. “That bathroom is closed so I had to go to the one two floors down and I had to duck into a 7-11 because I thought this group of tourists recognised me and I felt bad for blocking the entrance for so long so I bought this.”

Steve held up a party-sized bag of M&Ms and grinned.

Tony laughed. “Quick thinking, superhero.”

“Thanks,” Steve preened, before ripping open the bag and tossing some in his mouth. “Want some?”

“Maybe in a bit,” Tony said. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay coming with me?”

Steve looked up from the bag of chocolate. “Why do you keep asking that?”

“Well, darling, it’s just that I’m not there for a holiday and I’m going to have to cut my time between you and board meetings,” Tony admitted.

“I know why we’re there,” Steve shrugged. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Really?” Tony asked, hooking his finger onto Steve’ belt-loop and dragging him so he was pressed to his front. Steve responded by digging into his bag of chocolate and popping two pieces into Tony’s mouth and two into his own.

“Yeah, really,” Steve said, grinning sunnily and handsomely at him. “This time, I want to be with you.”      

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading "A Liberal Practise"! 
> 
> I'm not yet so sure if this is the end of this train of thought, but perhaps this is a good place to end this chapter of idea.


End file.
